


A Happy Christmas

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: April Showers 2015, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Saxon watches the security tapes of the Doctor destroying the Racnoss and laughs, because it's all so perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Happy Christmas

“Yes, all right. Tell her I’m on my way,” he says, as a man whose name he can’t remember replaces the plastic cup of coffee on his desk with another, slightly warmer one, and reminds him to go home before his wife calls again. 

“She said to say that you said that two hours ago,” the man reminds him. “And that you promised to be home for Christmas this year.”

The Master sighs impatiently. “Yes, but what she seems to have forgotten is that, after that phone call, London was attacked by an enormous killer star filled with alien spiders. Anyone here forgotten that yet? No. Women, eh? Can’t sort out their priorities.” He offers the man the bag of flying saucers next to the coffee. “Go  _on_ , have one. They’re really quite yummy.”

“No thank you, sir.”

“Suit yourself.” The Master pops one in his mouth and turns back to where his laptop is still playing the security footage recovered from the lab under the Thames. “If Lucy calls again, don’t mention the alien spider thing. Tell her I’m in the car and driving towards her at all possible speed.”

“Yes, Mr Saxon. Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Once the man has gone, the Master opens another bag of sweets (mint humbugs this time) and drags the cursor back to the beginning of the film. That the Racnoss survived their extermination is pretty incredible, but irrelevant now he and the Doctor have wiped them out for the second time. Far more interesting is the Doctor himself and that look on his face as the Racnoss drown. The Master presses pause as the video reaches his favourite part. The Doctor dripping wet and standing in flames and just…  _watching_  as the empress screams her anguish. There is no trace of that nauseating pity that used to be his trademark, only cold judgement. How wonderful. 

“Poor baby,” the Master whispers, reaching out to stroke the Doctor’s image. “Someone broke you, didn’t they? How I wish it could have been me.” 

He wonders idly, as he presses play again, whether the Doctor knows how many security tapes he’s been caught on over the years. The Master knows and has watched them all. This is his favourite though, by far. It will keep him entertained during the long nights until their eventual meeting which, he knows, is not for several months yet. He tries the coffee and regrets it. Perhaps it is time to go home after all. 

He shuts the laptop without turning it off, rolls up the packets of sweets, and shoves them into his pockets. Various people wish him a  _Happy Christmas_  and the Master waves and smiles, because it  _is_ a happy Christmas. People will be speaking of Harold Saxon over Christmas dinner; he will probably be mentioned in the Queen’s speech. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. He will put forward his bid for party leadership in the New Year. He laughs out loud, startling the receptionist. What a perfect Christmas. 

A sleek black car is waiting outside for him. As he hands over his laptop to Claude, the driver, there is a sharp twang at the back of his mind. Even before the first flakes begin to fall the Master recognises the atmospheric excitation for the cheap Time Lord trick it is and groans. “Oh, come  _on_.”

“Looks like we’ll have another proper white Christmas,” Claude says, looking up. “My kids’ll be overjoyed.”

“Flashy bastard,” the Master mutters. Then, louder: “This doesn’t make up for the genocide, you know.” 

“Sorry, sir?” Claude asks. 

“Nothing,” the Master says. “Just an old friend proving he’s as sentimental as ever. Snow at Christmas. Giving everyone hope again. How typical.” 

“Ah,” Claude says wisely, glancing skywards. “Lost faith, had you?”

“Mmmm. Well, of course, I should have known, really.” 

So the Doctor’s spirit isn’t broken yet. Well then, he thinks happily, he hasn’t lost his chance after all.  _Game on._

He shuts the door of the car without getting into it and smiles. “Thank you Claude, I think I’ll walk home.”

Though his presence on Earth has long since gone, the snow: the sign of the Doctor's hope lingers until Boxing Day. Never too cold or heavy to be inconvenient. Just perfect. Despite the terror of Christmas Eve, the humans make snowmen and have play fights with each other. They are happy and hopeful. Lucy snuggles closer to him as Queen Elizabeth praises his decisive action against the star. Apparently he gives one hope in the future of mankind. The irony is not unappreciated and the Master has a very good Christmas. 

Now, he knows just how much he will hurt the Doctor. And it's perfect.

 


End file.
